3 The Braque Connection (27 page)

The sunken ceiling lights were switched on and I decided it provided adequate light. It was a reprieve from the strong artificial glare everywhere else in the office. I closed the door and immediately enjoyed the sense of isolation. The spacious room felt like a reprieve from the continuous accompaniment of the last few days. I allowed myself a deep sigh and walked slowly along the wall, looking at the printouts of the underpaintings. It was interesting how every painting extended onto the back of the frames. I stopped in front of a particularly beautiful work and wondered about the significance of painting on the frames.

“What are these?” The young voice behind me made me jump and grab at my chest. For a micro-second I had thought Kubanov had found me, but it had not been his voice. I calmed myself enough to turn around. There was no one behind me. I frowned and looked deeper into the room. In the far corner of the room was a huddled figure on the floor.

“Who are you?”

“Nikki.” Her eyes were wide in what looked like uncertainty, her dark hair tied up in a messy ponytail. She stared at me. “Who are you?”

I walked a bit closer. “Doctor Genevieve Lenard.”

“Like a medical doctor or a clever doctor?”

“Often medical doctors are clever, but I’m not a medical doctor. I am, however, very intelligent.” I pulled out two chairs. “Please sit down.”

“I like it here.” Her jaw jutted, her arms folding tighter around her.

“How old are you?” Her small frame and huddled posture made it difficult to ascertain her age. She could be anything between fourteen and nineteen. I rested my posterior on the edge of the table, trying to adopt a more approachable posture.

“How old are
you
?”

“I turned thirty-five two days ago.” I didn’t know if I was communicating correctly. How did one speak to a young adult? I had not spoken to a young person like her in the last fifteen years.

“That’s old.”

“Not really. With today’s medical technology, my lifestyle and genes, I am likely to live to eighty, even ninety. That means I haven’t yet passed the halfway mark of the average lifespan. I have reached the top of my field internationally, but I aim to improve my skills all the time.”

“You’re weird.” Her body language shifted from defiance to interest.

“You mean that as a compliment. Thank you.”

We sat in silence for a few minutes. She seemed comfortable with it. I was.

“Why were you looking at those printed paintings? And why do they look like that?”

I glanced behind me. “They are called underpaintings. An artist paints a basis for his final work and paints over it. In this case, the underpaintings are the final product.”

“Why?”

“It’s a message.”

“For who?”

“Whom. For whom is the correct form of the question.” I sighed at my digression. “The message is for me.”

“So what does it say?” She got up and took a few steps to the painting closest to me.

“I don’t know yet.”

“I thought you said you were clever.” She turned to me, the frown on her face. Despite her current expression, she had all the markers of becoming a beautiful woman. Now she was underweight, had dark circles under her eyes, and her body language communicated a prolonged period of stress. It was the slight tilt of her head and her cheekbones that brought recognition. I had seen that before on a photo. There she had been younger and happier.

“You’re Monique, Hawk’s daughter.”

Her head whipped up and she took a step towards me. “You know my dad? Do you know what happened to him?”

I didn’t know what to do. All indicators warned me this young woman was on the brink of a breakdown. I wanted to run out the room and call Phillip. He would know how to deal with this young person. I barely managed to communicate with adults. How was I going to walk through this maze of talking to a girl whose father had died while my hands were covered in his blood?

“Doctor G? What happened to him?” She was standing right in front of me now. Unbearable pain was etched around her eyes and mouth. “Mister Manny wouldn’t tell me anything except that there was an accident. He thinks I’m stupid. I’m not. I know my dad was a criminal. I know he did bad things. But he loved me. He wanted a better life for me. That was why he sent me away. Do you also think I’m stupid or will you tell me what happened?”

I studied her dispassionately as if she was on one of the monitors in my viewing room. She studied me back. I didn’t know what she saw, but what I saw was an intelligent young woman asking for answers adults wouldn’t give her. It resonated within me. I had been where she was.

“I was with him when he died. I had been drugged and left lying next to him, but he was alive when I woke up.” My voice softened as I watched silent tears ran down her face. “He had lost a lot of blood when I woke up. He knew he was dying and he spent his last energy talking about you.”

“What did he say?” Her
mentalis
muscle caused her chin to tremble.

“He said you are a good person. That you are better than him.” And he made me promise to look after you. It was hard to not say this to her, but I didn’t know if it would do more harm than good. As it was, I watched her demeanour crumble.

She looked at me and I saw myself in her. A youth misunderstood by society, buckling under the expectations of her family and those associated with her family. I wondered how my life, how I, would have been different had there been someone to reach out to me. I could not allow myself to let her feel the isolation I saw on her face, the isolation I had experienced at her age. With uncommon determination, I set aside my dislikes and typical behaviours. I opened my arms.

She fell against my chest with a loud sob, clutching me around my back. I swallowed hard at the desire to scrub clean the wet tears running down my neck. Nobody had been willing to sacrifice for me as a child. I had grown, trained and developed enough to do it for this young person. Having read about the power of human touch, and having experienced the calming power of it from Colin, I closed my arms around her. I rubbed slow circles on her back, not saying anything. Instead I wrote Mozart’s Symphony No. 36 in C Major to keep from pushing her away.

That was how they found us.

The door opened and I heard a loud gasp. Then I heard my mother’s voice.

Chapter TWENTY-TWO

“What have you done to that child?” My mother’s voice carried the same disapproving tone I had heard when I had last seen her four years ago. It was the same tone I had heard throughout my childhood. Nikki stiffened in my arms, clutching me even tighter. I took a deep breath and called back Mozart’s symphony to play softly in my mind. I would need all the calming I could get.

“Do something.” The
depressor anguli oris
muscle brought the familiar look of disdain around my mother’s mouth as she spoke to my father. “Don’t just stand there. Get the poor child away from her.”

My parents took a few steps into the conference room. I was grateful for its spaciousness, leaving my parents at a safe distance. Nikki’s sobs had quieted. I felt her muscles tense under my hands as she fought to regain her composure.

“Don’t come any closer.” The strength in my voice stopped my father from taking another step. My mother moved slightly behind him. It was almost amusing to watch my father’s expression. That flash of fear was of me, not for the young girl in my embrace. I thought of Colin and the rest of the team, my friends. None of them had ever had that specific expression in relation to me.

I had left my parents’ home and financial care as soon as I had been able to. Even in my much more emotionally unstable teenage years, I had known I was more than my parents’ opinion of me. Hawk’s daughter knew her father had loved her. I didn’t have that luxury. On the other hand, I didn’t have the legacy of a father who was a violent criminal, possibly leaving a lot of people behind seeking revenge for different reasons. It made me concerned for Nikki’s safety.

She took a trembling breath and sniffed loudly against my shoulder. My stomach roiled in reaction to the sound. I was going to put this outfit through a double washing cycle tonight when I got home. My parents were watching us closely. They looked ready to leap and defend Nikki physically if the need were to arise. My attention shifted to Nikki as she leaned away slightly. I dropped my arms, but she didn’t step away from me.

She sniffed again and glanced at my parents. “Who are they?”

I pushed away from the table and stood straight. Nikki stayed so close to my side we brushed against each other with the slightest movement. I turned up the volume of my mental Mozart Symphony. “Monique—”

“Nikki.” She pushed against my side. “My name is Nikki.”

I nodded. If that was her preference I would respect that. My parents had insisted on pronouncing my name in the French manner, which I to this day found offensive and unsuited to me. “Nikki, these are my parents, Gerard Lenard and Charlotte Lenard.”

“Well, isn’t this total awesome-sauce? Meeting the family is cool.” Vinnie walked into the conference room, followed closely by Francine. She wasn’t as successful as Vinnie at masking his concern as insincere familiarity. He walked to them, his hand outstretched. “Howdy, folks. I’m Vinnie, Jen-girl’s best friend.”

“Vin, I’m her best friend.” Francine pushed him out the way to reach my parents first. “I’m Francine.”

Francine had not succeeded in catching their attention. They were looking at Vinnie in horror, their eyes focussed on the large scar running down his face. Fear warred with contempt for dominance in their expressions.

“Ah, they’re shy.” Vinnie turned away from my parents and walked to me. Nikki moved closer to me, tucking herself half behind me. Francine had my mother’s attention now, introducing herself, keeping them from following Vinnie’s progression to us. He stopped in front of me and looked at me as if to make sure I was well. He must have seen my parents’ presence wasn’t causing me distress. “Colin is coming. He ran out for some food, but I phoned him as soon as I heard your folks were here.”

“How did you know they’re here?”

“Francine has this whole place under surveillance, remember?” He looked down to my side, addressing me. “Who’s the little punk?”

Nikki inhaled sharply and took a small step to my side, still touching me. “The little punk is Nikki, you big punk. Who are you?”

Vinnie laughed. “I like you, punk. I’m Vinnie.”

“Genevieve?” My mother’s voice froze Vinnie’s laughter and made me feel like sighing. “Who are all these people? I thought this was a reputable establishment. I should’ve known this was too good to be true.”

“Listen, lady.” Vinnie stepped forward, placing himself in front of me and Nikki. Our protector.

I took one step to be at Vinnie’s side. Immediately Nikki’s body pressed against mine. I focussed on the situation rather than the overwhelming desire to lock myself in my viewing room. Alone. “Vinnie, don’t. No matter how rational or factual your argument, they won’t hear it.”

“Hmm, they’re those kind of people,” Francine said softly as she moved to stand behind us.

My parents were standing in the same place, a few feet away from the door. The long conference table separated us, but there was a much larger psychological space between us. My mother’s one foot was pointed towards the door, her weight resting on that leg. Our bodies lead where our minds want to go. My father’s body language was more aggressive, his feet planted apart, his hands on his hips, thumbs pointed to the back. Argumentative.

“What are you doing here?” I had only once told them where I worked, but had not expected them to ever show any interest. “It’s Sunday. Why did you come to my office on a Sunday?”

“You invited us here, Genevieve.” My father frowned at Vinnie. “Else we wouldn’t be where we clearly don’t belong.”

As if conjured by my wish for his presence, Phillip came into the conference room. I had to concentrate to not allow my body to sag in relief. Especially when Colin followed Phillip into the room, ignoring my parents and walking straight to me.

Phillip introduced himself to my parents, his charm uncanny in its effectiveness. Daily he worked with people like my parents. Entitled, pretentious, self-important. Visibly, my parents relaxed, their social smiles back in place.

“Are you all right?” Colin asked as he stopped in front of me.

I nodded. Feeling crowded in the dimly lit room lost importance compared to what my father had revealed. Colin stared into my eyes for another second before he looked to my side. “I’m Colin, who are you?”

“Nikki. What’s going on here?”

“I think this is another gift,” I said. “It’s part of his message.”

“Like from the paintings?” Nikki asked. Her voice was stronger, clearer. She was losing her reserve.

“You seem to know more than I do, young lady.” Phillip walked towards us, his hand outstretched. There were too many people around me. I knew I couldn’t ask Nikki to leave. Not when she was starting to relax. I looked at Colin while Phillip introduced himself to Nikki.

“What’s wrong?” he asked in a low whisper before I could say anything.

“Too many people.” No sooner had I said this than Vinnie and Francine walked to the other side of the table. Vinnie made sure I saw his reassuring expression. Francine just looked concerned. Colin took a step away from me, leaving me with only Nikki against my side.

“Is she okay?” he asked, again in a low whisper.

“I think so.” But I didn’t want to push her away from me. Maybe I could explain to her later how strongly I disliked physical closeness. Later. Now there was another much more pressing issue. Phillip was asking Nikki if she would like something to eat. I didn’t wait for her to answer him. “Did you invite my parents?”

Phillip straightened and frowned at me. “No. Why would I? Did someone invite them?”

“You did.” My mother’s eyes supported her accusing tone. “You sent us that embossed invitation with those horrid red daffodils.”

Adrenaline rushed through my body, instantly making my hands cold. I turned away from my parents, my focus on Colin. My mouth felt dry and I cleared my throat. “Kubanov.”

He nodded. Vinnie and Francine moved closer to the table to be part of our conversation.

“Why would he want my parents here?”

“I thought you wanted to show us where you worked,” my father said. I glanced at him. My mother had lost interest and was looking at the underpaintings. “The invitation was for five o’clock this afternoon, but we decided to come this morning. We’re meeting with old friends for an early dinner before a concert this evening. We didn’t want to cancel our plans to merely see your workplace. Now I’m glad we didn’t.”

I looked at them, not seeing the people who were biologically connected to me. I was processing everything my father just told me, trying to make sense of this. “Did you tell anyone you were going for dinner and a concert?”

“No, why would I?”

“I put it on my Facebook page.” My mother looked away from the underpainting she was studying. “I even got fifteen likes when I last checked. It seems everyone liked the fact that we had won those concert tickets.”

Even though I had heard my mother scoff at social media as being plebeian, I wasn’t surprised that she couldn’t resist the temptation of being a mini-celebrity. It would be the perfect platform for her to build an image of much higher social standing and activity than was real.

“I know this place.” My mother pointed at the second underpainting from the left. “It’s our street in Marseille. It was your elementary school years. That was when we started homeschooling you. This is quite a good cubist rendition of it.”

This I had not expected. I took a moment to school my thoughts and tone. “Do you recognise any of the other places?”

“Why, yes I do. Come look here, Gerard.” She waited for my dad to join her. “This is Toulouse. We had that big country house where you were homeschooled before you matriculated.”

I watched them as they walked along the wall with the underpaintings. My mother didn’t identify any of the other paintings. A deep dread was sending more shots of adrenaline through my system, making my stomach feel heavy. I didn’t like where my thoughts were taking me. “How did you win the concert tickets? I don’t remember you ever approving of competitions.”

The
orbicularis oris
muscle around my mother’s mouth pursed her lips. “It was a giveaway at a recent gala event we attended, if you have to know. I was just lucky that my number was chosen. It even paid for the trip here and our accommodation. Five-star, thank goodness.”

“Maybe now you could tell us who all these people are to you, Genevieve.” My father looked at Colin, who had taken my hand in his. I hadn’t noticed.

“I’m her employer,” Phillip said. “This is a specialised team she works with in her art crime investigation cases.”

“They are also my friends.” I wasn’t going to hide behind Phillip’s diplomacy. “Francine and Vinnie are my best friends. And Colin is—”

I didn’t know how to finish the sentence. What was he to me?

“—your boyfriend?” Nikki elbowed me in my side. Vinnie snorted a laugh and Colin lifted both eyebrows.

This was far beyond my purview of social interaction. I stood frozen, not knowing how to address the expectation in Colin’s eyes. My mind raced, reaching for a path out of this quagmire.

“You need to leave here now.” Desperate to escape the current topic, I allowed my tone to become a bit too harsh.

“Well, you don’t need to be rude.” My mother put her hand on my father’s arm. “She hasn’t changed a bit.”

“No, really.” I stepped forward, my suspicions becoming stronger by the second. “You need to leave. Now.”

Phillip looked at me for a moment before he escorted my parents from the conference room.

“What’s up, Jen-girl?” Vinnie walked around the table, but stayed close to the door, not invading my space.

“Kubanov would only invite them here for a reason. He doesn’t do things without a purpose. My question is what is that reason? And what does he have planned for five o’clock?”

“What makes you think he has something planned for five o’clock?”

“He’s been investigating us. He knew things about Colin that no one else knew. Undoubtedly he investigated me and must have found out about the lack of any relationship between me and my parents. My mother didn’t win those tickets. Somehow Kubanov set it up for her to win that trip here. He also knew she would be at the concert at five.”

“How did he know they would come earlier?” Francine asked. “And how did he know we—you—would be in the office today?”

“That I don’t know. Maybe he’s been watching them and came to the conclusion that based on prior behaviour there is a large probability they would come earlier. The same with us working today.”

“Five o’clock?” Colin asked.

“He easily could’ve predicted I would challenge my parents’ presence and find out about the invitation. That would give me the time.”

“For what?”

My shoulders dropped a bit. “I don’t know. It’s here, but I don’t know what I’m looking at.”

“You said his illness could’ve changed Kubanov. Maybe he just did this to fuck with your mind.”

Francine slapped Vinnie hard on his arm. “Language. There’s an impressionable person in the room.”

I was startled that I had completely forgotten about the young body pressed against mine. Nikki’s presence, her proximity was non-intrusive. Until she snorted. It was very unladylike and unsuitable for a person her age. “That is not the worst word I’ve ever heard.”